


King Of Spades, Ace Of Hearts

by watanuki_sama



Category: Common Law (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, But he's trying, Consensual Touching, Established Relationship, M/M, Run-On Sentences, Talk about sex and sexuality, Travis is a little insensative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: Three times Wes asks Travis if he wants to break up. (Or, Wes is asexual, Travis is still working out what that means, and there are a few misunderstandings along the way.)





	King Of Spades, Ace Of Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on FF.net under the penname 'EFAW' on 06.15.17.

_“We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love.”_   
_—Tom Robbins_

\---

**Part One**

“I think we should break up,” Wes announces over dinner, apropos of _absolutely fucking nothing_. Travis has been watching how things have been going, and he’s been on enough dates to know when things usually begin falling apart, and none of the signs he’s used to have been present. _None_. In fact, things have been going well, _exceedingly_ well, considering his usual track record. Oh, sure, they’ve been going a bit slow for his taste, but it’s _Wes_ and…well, Travis doesn’t want to push Wes.

Wes is seriously the best thing to ever happen to him, and it’s sappy as hell and Travis has not actually said that aloud, but it’s true. Travis thought things were going _spectacular_.

And then Wes drops this little bombshell on him, right over dinner.

He stares at his partner, mouth agape, a fork full of pasta hovering halfway to his mouth. It takes him a few tries before he can get anything out, and what he ends up saying is a strangled, “ _What?_ ” that emerges shriller than he intended.

Wes stares at his plate, pushing food around with his fork. “I think we should break up,” he repeats, his intonation flat and careless. Like it doesn’t matter. Like he’s _not_ proposing the end of their relationship and possibly their partnership, because Wes _knows_ about Travis’s track record with the people he’s dated, he just doesn’t _do_ relationships beyond the end because it all gets so _messy_ and oh god, Wes wants to break up like _for real_.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, clunking his fork on the plate. The look of stunned surprise on Wes’s face would be funny, if he weren’t kind of panicking a little right now.

The blonde blinks, frowns. Opens his mouth. “Sorry…for what?”

“I don’t know. For whatever it is that’s making you want to break up with me.”

The frown deepens, something appalled crossing Wes’s face. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But you want to break up with me.”

“I don’t want to break up with you.” Wes drops his gaze, fidgeting with his fork again, and that’s something Travis isn’t used to seeing, Wes _fidgeting_. He must be in _real_ deep shit if Wes is fidgeting. “I think we should break up. There’s a difference.”

“I really don’t think there is!”

“Travis!” Wes drops his fork and runs his hand over his face. He takes a breath, and Travis can almost see him counting like one of Dr. Ryan’s calming exercises, trying to reign in the argument before it can get out of control. Travis would really rather fight about this, they’re _much_ better at fighting than calmly talking things out, but he bites his tongue and stays where he is.

The urge to run before he gets hurt is overwhelming, but, well, he’s already hurting, so he might as well hear the death knell fall from Wes’s lips.

The blonde lowers his hand with a sigh, not quite looking at Travis. “This isn’t about you. This is… It’s me. _I_ think we should break up, because of me.”

Travis snorts, slumping back in his chair. He works really hard to affect nonchalance. He’s had enough practice that he thinks he’s doing pretty damn well pulling it off. “You want to break up with me so you give me a line? Classy, Mitchell.”

“It’s not a line, Travis. It really is me.”

“What about you?” A horrible thought strikes Travis, and he sits up. “You’re not dying, are you?”

“No, I’m not dying.”

“Because it would be _just like you_ to break up with me when you’re dying so you wouldn’t hurt me even though everyone _knows_ that if you’re dying, you’re supposed to have all of your loved ones around you.”

“Travis, I’m not dying.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

“Then why do you want to break up with me?”

“I don’t—” Wes runs his hands over his face again, inhaling deeply. He squares his shoulders and lifts his chin and this is his battle face, the one he wears when he’s interrogating suspects or being cross-examined in court, the one that says _I have been through hell and I can take anything you send my way_.

For the first time since this dinner started, Wes looks Travis in the eye, and he confesses.

“I’m asexual.”

\---

Over the years, Travis has had many relationships. As a general rule, they don’t last; it’s the rare one that makes it more than a month. A good number of them ended by Travis’s hand, when things got too serious or he felt it just wasn’t fair to his partner to keep stringing them along. A lot of them have ended because of the other person, taking the relationship into their own hands and cutting things off. Over the years he’s been on the receiving end of such gems as:

—“You’re afraid of commitment.” This one is very common, and not untrue. Travis has his reasons. They don’t tend to fly with his partners, but he has them nonetheless.

—“You work too much.” Also very common, and also very true. Travis is a workaholic, and he feels no shame in that. His work is important, and he’s good at it. He’s not gonna just _stop_.

—“You spend too much time with your partner.” This one was subtle, and confused him for a long time. Of course he spends a lot of time with Wes, because Wes is a lonely old bastard who doesn’t have any friends other than Travis, especially after Paekman dies, so who _else_ is going to be there? That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s spending _too much_ time with Wes.

—“You should just admit you’re gay for your partner and go for it.” This one was less subtle, and had made him laugh uproariously for twenty minutes when he heard it. (This was, of course, before he realized how very gay he was for his partner). He’d thought she was joking just to break up. It took him months and one near-death experience to realize just how serious she was.

But in all the years he’s been dating, Travis has never heard anyone use something like _I’m asexual_ to try and end things.

Wes is getting fidgety again, separating his food into neat little piles. Tomatoes on one side of the plate, spinach on the other, prosciutto garnishing the rim, a perfect coil of pasta in the middle. He looks nervous. He looks a little _scared_.

Travis frowns. “Okay.”

Wes’s head snaps up. “Okay? What do you _mean_ , okay?” Then he studies Travis’s face, and his eyes narrow. “You don’t know what that means, do you?”

Travis could lie, but Wes is trying to break up with him, and lying would probably just push that goal along faster, so he admits, “Not really, no.”

“Of course you don’t.” Wes sets down his fork, squares his shoulders again, and takes a deep breath. “It means I don’t want to have sex.”

Travis blinks. “No, man, that’s cool. We talked about this. I’m fine with going slow, remember?”

Wes runs his hand over his face, and he looks about three seconds away from slapping Travis upside the head for missing something that’s right in front of his face. But he doesn’t do any such thing. He just drops his hand and goes back to not quite looking Travis in the eye.

“It’s not just tonight, Travis. It means I just don’t want to have sex. Like, _ever_.”

Travis’s brain screeches to a halt. It takes a second to find his voice. “What, like… _never_ ever?”

“Never ever,” Wes confirms with a sardonic little smile.

There’s another long moment of silence. Finally, tentatively, Travis ventures forth with, “So what does this have to do with you breaking up with me?”

Wes drops his gaze to his plate again. “I like you, Travis. A lot. I really do. But I don’t want sex. At all. Even with you.”

The penny drops.

“Oh.”

“It’s not you, really,” Wes reassures him, but he’s still not looking at Travis at _all_. “It’s all me. This is just…how I am. And it’s not…fair to you to have to put up with that.”

Travis looks down at his plate. “ _Oh_.”

Wes picks up his fork and pushes noodles around. “Yeah.”

\---

The rest of dinner is quiet; conversation falls flat. Normally after they’re finished eating, Travis would tidy up the dishes while Wes set up a movie and they’d cuddle on the couch—going slow, because Wes has boundaries and Travis respects that, and he respects Wes enough to follow those boundaries. But tonight is…tonight is something completely different.

Travis doesn’t quite know how to handle this.

Wes sets his plate in the sink, and in a break from their normal date night routine, he heads for the door. “Maybe it’d be better if we just called it a night,” he suggests, already sliding into his coat, and all Travis can do is linger awkwardly in the kitchen and mumble an agreement.

Wes fiddles with his zipper, staring at his shoes. “My offer stands,” he says quietly, barely loud enough for Travis to hear.

“Yeah.” Travis’s throat feels a little dry. He swallows hard; it doesn’t help. “I’ll, uh…I’ll think about it.”

Wes nods, hands falling limply to his sides. He hesitates on the threshold, looking torn. Like he can’t decide between a goodnight kiss or a goodbye hug.

But finally, he just turns and leaves, quietly closing the door behind him, and Travis watches him go without protest.

\---

Ever since Travis learned just what his dick could do for him, he’s had a very active sex life. Seriously. Puberty was an awakening, and Kate and Amy are not completely wrong when they accuse him of being horny all the time. Travis likes sex. He likes doing it and, when that’s not an option, he likes thinking about it (when he’s not distracted by other things).

So try as he might, he just can’t understand how Wes can _not want_ sex.

Never _ever_ , even with Travis, and how is that even possible? Travis may not be an absolute sex god, but he definitely knows what he’s doing, and he knows how to make it good. He could blow Wes’s mind.

But Wes doesn’t want it. And Travis doesn’t know what to do with that.

Travis likes Wes, he does. He likes Wes a _lot_. To the point that Wes is one of the most important people in his life. (That other L word is a no-fly zone, because thinking that just makes Travis feel itchy and want to run, but truth be told, what he feels for Wes is pretty damn close.)

Wes is his best friend and his partner and the person who gets him on all the levels that matter. He’s been there through thick and thin and life and death, and they’ve worked through all sorts of crap to be together and stay together, even before they were actually _together_. When they started dating, it was just another layer to add to their relationship, and Travis figured it would only get better once they got to the sleeping-together-and-not-in-a-platonic-way stage of things.

But—and here’s the kicker again— _Wes does not want it_. Not at all. And Travis…

Travis doesn’t know what to do about that. He’s never had a relationship without _some_ sexual component to it. Hell, half of his relationships revolved around sex and nothing else. He has no idea how this is supposed to work without it.

\---

There’s a distance between them, a subtle thing that separates them even when they’re standing right next to each other. It started the moment Wes left that night and it feels like it’s only growing. Travis doesn’t know if he’s pulling away or Wes is, but does it really matter? There’s distance where there shouldn’t be, and Travis doesn’t know how to fix it.

He doesn’t know that he wants to.

He likes Wes, but he doesn’t know how to make this work without sex, and maybe Wes has the right idea. Maybe it’s just better to break up and be done with it.

But then he thinks about what breaking up would mean. It would mean no more late nights watching movies, and sitting pressed close. It would mean no more quiet kisses and not-so-subtle moments when he presses his nose into Wes’s spiky hair and breathes in the scent of his shampoo. It means no more coffee in the morning and no more car rides and fights about the radio.

It probably means no more being partners, because Travis _knows_ what happens to his relationships after they end, they never last. Randi is the one exception to the rule, but Travis thinks that’s mostly because she’s amused by him and his indecisiveness, rather than pissed like everyone else.

Breaking up means bitter fights that grow and grow exponentially until fists are flying and the words are coming sharp and edged to hurt, until one of them requests a transfer and they walk away. It means the end of everything Travis has fought to keep, the end of everything Travis went to couple’s counseling for, because they weren’t dating at the time but the thought of losing Wes was unbearable even back then.

When he puts it like that, it should be the easiest decision in the world.

But on the other hand, there’s no sex. Travis likes sex. More than that, he’s good at it, and he knows how to use sex. As a weapon, as a tool, as a gift and a memorial and everything in between. He’s a goddamned connoisseur of sex, and without it…

It’s not like they’ve been sleeping together up to this point anyway. It shouldn’t make one damn bit of difference.

But it does, and the distance between them grows.

\---

It’s not that noticeable, he thinks, until he’s pouring coffee in the break room and Amy, leaning down to grab her burrito from the microwave, says, “So, you guys had a fight?”

Travis pauses, and frowns, and replaces the carafe. “No?” he says, less confident than he intends.

“Ah.” Her face turns all sympathetic, and it’s really annoying, somehow. “Lover’s quarrel?”

“No!” This one is more assured. “Definitely not. Mind your own business.”

Because they’re not fighting. Not really. Wes is just…giving Travis some distance while he thinks things over. That’s all.

“Uh-huh.” Amy pokes her burrito, deems it satisfactory, and heads for the door. “Whatever. Word of advice, apologies go a long way. Bring him flowers, I bet he’d like that.” She winks as she walks out.

Travis’s gaze strays to the window, studying the curve of Wes’s back as he bends over his desk. He feels a pang, sharp and intense, right behind his sternum. He’d thought it was just a little thing, a bit of distance between them. He’d thought everything was fine, for the most part.

If other people are noticing the distance, then this is worse than he thought.

He needs to decide.

\---

“I miss you.”

Wes’s brow furrows. “We just saw each other like three hours ago, Travis.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He waffles in the doorway, rocking on his heels. “Can I come in?”

This earns a raised eyebrow, because Travis is generally the sort who will just barge into Wes’s hotel room without a by-your-leave. “Sure, I suppose.” The blonde moves aside, and Travis steps in.

The nerves skitter along his skin like a living thing, ready to clamp down on his heart until his only option is to escape. He takes a deep breath and refuses to run. This is important.

“I miss you,” he declares to the room.

“You said that.” Wes quietly closes the hotel room, and Travis suddenly feels trapped. He itches to bolt; he resists.

For the first time in his life, he’s found something worth fighting for, some _one_ worth _staying_ for. This is no time to be ruled by petty reactions and irrational fears.

Wes steps away from the door, carefully nonchalant. “It’s not like I’ve gone anywhere,” he says, crossing his arms. “I’m just giving you some time to think.”

“I know. I know you are. And I have thought about it. And you know what I realized?” Travis takes a breath. “I have _no idea_ how a relationship without sex would work. Like, I literally cannot _fathom_ it, it’s so beyond my reach.”

Wes blinks, and his mouth thins to a tight, unhappy line. “Right.” Shoulders hunching against an invisible blow, he moves towards his bedroom. “No, I get it. Say no more. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“But I want to try.”

The blonde pauses in the doorway.

Travis swallows, and he thinks his hands might be shaking. He doesn’t bother to check. This is, in its own way, terrifying. He knows how to face down drug dealers and thieves and murderers. But this? Open, complete honesty, vulnerable and aching? This is _horrible_ , and he doesn’t know how people do this on a regular basis.

But more than that is the fear of losing Wes, of his partner walking away to an unreachable distance. And if Travis just let Wes walk away, when he could have stopped it…

No. That’s unacceptable.

He wipes his hands on his jeans. “I don’t know how this will work. I don’t…I’m not sure if it _will_ work. But I don’t want to just let you go. You’re…” This is the part he had to practice in the mirror, and even so, the words get stuck in his throat. He drops his gaze to the ground, because maybe if he isn’t looking at Wes the words will flow a little smoother.

Wes says nothing, a tense presence in the corner of his vision that’s making this harder than it should be. Travis doesn’t let that stop him.

“You…you’re _important_ to me, Wes. Like, really important. So…if this is important to _you_ , then…then I want to try.”

The shape in his vision moves, stepping closer. Travis swallows hard and doesn’t look up.

“So can we…we can try, can’t we?” He doesn’t want to lose Wes. More than anything, the thought of losing his partner hurts in ways that losing any of his other romantic partners never did. It felt like that before, too, when they were given a choice between counseling or being separated, and Travis hadn’t realized what it meant back then, just that he would do anything to keep Wes beside him. That hasn’t changed. He’d still do _anything_.

Even abstain from sex, if that’s what it takes.

Wes’s hand curls around the back of his neck, and his partner pulls him close, resting his cheek on the top of Travis’s head. “Yeah,” he whispers, and Travis can feel that Wes’s hands are trembling too. “Yeah, we can try.”

Travis has no idea how this will work, but Wes is just as scared as he is. That’s someplace to start.

 

**Part Two**

Since Travis has no idea what ‘asexual’ means beyond Wes’s brief explanation of _I don’t want sex never ever_ , Travis asks questions. It’s how you get information out of a suspect, so this is really no different. And if they’re going to do this, then Travis needs all the information he can get so he doesn’t somehow mess this up.

So while they’re sitting in Wes’s car, waiting for their suspect to emerge so they can trail her to (hopefully) where she stashed the money, he asks, “You can still do it, though, right?”

Wes, who has not had this question rolling around in his head for days, blinks and gets that little furrow between his brows that is kind of a little cute (and also wonderful ammo for comments about wrinkles). “What?”

“You know.” Travis makes a lewd gesture. “Sex. You don’t want to, but you _can_ , right? You’re not, like…physically incapable?”

The confusion clears and turns to disgusted annoyance. “Seriously?”

Travis shrugs. “Can’t blame me for asking, can you?”

Wes rolls his eyes and turns back to the apartment building. “I _can_ ,” he says, after a few minutes have passed and Travis thinks Wes has just ignored him completely. “I _have_. I just don’t _want_ to.”

“Oh,” Travis says, and goes back to thinking.

\---

Two days later, as they’re eating lunch, Travis frowns at his jerk chicken. “But if you didn’t want to, then how did you and Alex…?”

To which Wes responds, “I will stab you in the eye with my fork if you finish that sentence, I swear to god.”

Travis wisely shuts up.

\---

“Oh!” Travis declares suddenly, sitting up in his chair. He leans forward, waving Wes close, and lowers his voice so no one can eavesdrop. “Your no-touching thing, is that because of, you know, the asexual bit, or what?”

Wes rolls his eyes and leans back. “No, it’s an OCD-slash-neuroses thing. Hand me the Brandford file, will you?”

Travis hands the file over and sits back, frowning thoughtfully.

\---

“Oh my god!” Travis blurts in the middle of therapy. Clyde stops mid-sentence, but Travis doesn’t pay attention, turning to Wes. “So when you said the emotional equivalent of sex, you, like, _actually meant that_ , didn’t you?”

Wes drops his head in his hands.

\---

“Just to be absolutely clear.” Travis props his foot on Wes’s dash and fumbles for his shades. “Asexual means no sex _at all_ , right? It’s not, like, just kinky weird sex no one else would understand?”

Wes’s glare is scorching even through his sunglasses. “Get your foot off my dash or I’ll break your fucking ankles,” he snarls, with a lot more venom than the question really warranted. Travis thinks Wes’s subtext is actually saying _Shut the hell up or I will break your fucking face and I won’t even feel bad_.

Just in case, though, Travis takes his foot off the dash.

\---

The thing is, Travis _can’t_ do this without as much information as he can get. He doesn’t know _how_. He wants to try, though, so he bites his tongue and goes to the next best source.

If Wes won’t talk to him, he’ll talk to Dr. Ryan.

He waits until therapy is on one of their days off, when they arrive separately. After the session, he waves his goodbyes to Wes and helps Dr. Ryan put the chairs away.

Before he can even figure out how to approach the subject, Dr. Ryan sits in one of the remaining chairs and crosses her legs. “What can I help you with, Travis?” she asks, waving to a chair opposite her.

Travis sinks into it. “What makes you think I need help with anything?” A bit counter-productive, and he curses his instinctual defensiveness when it comes to therapy.

She merely smiles gently, used to his ways. “Typically you’re one of the first ones out of here, but today you lingered behind. I assume you have something you wish to discuss in privacy. And you were fidgeting all session, which makes me suspect the matter is something important to you.”

Travis stops fidgeting and tucks his hands under his armpits. “Was not.”

Her smile deepens, eyes crinkling a little at the corners, and repeats, “What can I help you with?”

Okay. Deep breaths. He can do this. This is for Wes.

He drops his hands. “I, uh…I’m in a relationship. And it’s…serious. Like, _really_ serious.” Unable to help himself, he picks at his jeans. “I really like this person.”

“Congratulations.” There’s no sarcasm in her words. Travis appreciates it. She knows how significant a statement like that is, from him.

“Thanks.” He wipes his hands on his thighs, looks at the floor. “And, uh, just recently, this person said that they were…asexual.”

Dr. Ryan waits.

This is not the most awkward thing he’s done in his life. This should not be so hard. “And, uh, that’s it. I guess I just…don’t quite know what that means, or how to, you know, deal with it.”

“I see.” She sits back, making a thoughtful little noise in her throat. “Well, in its simplest definition, asexuality is simply a lack of sexual attraction. Like many things, of course, it tends to be more complicated than that.” She pauses. “Have you tried talking to your partner?”

“Sure.” Travis asked Wes all sorts of questions. “Didn’t help much.”

“Of course.” Which is code for _You’re emotionally stunted but I’m a professional so I won’t judge you for it_. “I’m not really sure what you want from me, Travis. I can’t tell you how to have a relationship with your partner.”

He looks up, gives her a flat look. “Really, Dr. Couples’ Counseling?”

She chuckles. “I don’t tell people what to do here, Travis, I merely guide them to a path of better understanding. Honestly, the best advice I can give you is to talk with your partner. Find out what you both are comfortable with, and where you both are willing to compromise. This is just like any other relationship.”

“Oh.” Travis frowns, disappointed, and stands. “Great. Thanks, doc.”

As he goes to put his chair away, she sighs. “I can send you some websites, if it would help. Resources about asexuality that might benefit you.”

“Yeah?” Travis gives her a quick smile, and his thanks are more sincere this time. “I would appreciate it.”

She nods and rises regally from her chair. “You’ll have them within the day.”

\---

Sure, Travis could sit down with Wes and have a long, heart-felt talk about boundaries and compromises and all sorts of touchy-feely shit. He _could_.

_Or_ he could go with the tried and true method of avoiding talking about his feelings for as long as possible and flying by the seat of his pants. That works too.

He goes through the links Dr. Ryan sends him. He sits down after work and opens every link and reads as much as he can. There’s a lot of general information, and a lot of science stuff, and Travis has to admit, the purple/grey/white/black color scheme is pretty darn cool.

Then he gets to the testimonials. Pages of people talking about their experiences as asexuals, how difficult it can be living in a world where sex is everywhere and what being in a relationship is like and growing up with it and oh, some of these stories _hurt_. Travis is happily floating somewhere between bisexual and pansexual, and that was bad enough growing up, but to be asexual in a world that won’t shut up about sex for three minutes? Travis can’t even imagine.

And then there’s this world that keeps popping up. _Repulsed_. As in, utterly and completely disgusted with even the thought of sex, let alone anything having to do with it, and it’s everywhere and eventually Travis has to sit back and run his hand over his face.

_Repulsed_.

God.

\---

Travis is a sexual guy. He flirts and makes innuendos and likes body contact. Even when he tries to be professional and maintain a polite distance, more often than not it comes through.

But he can also be selfish, and he doesn’t want to lose Wes. Not because of sex. And that word _repulsed_ keeps spinning through his brain, round and round, and if mere innuendo and body contact pushes Wes away for good, Travis will never forgive himself.

He censors himself. He bites back the flirtations and innuendo, which leaves his speech stilted and stiff, because it’s been so long since he’s talked _without_ something additional added to his words. Wes sends him a few odd looks, but he doesn’t comment on it, just makes his _Travis is being weird_ face and goes with the flow.

He stops touching Wes. He doesn’t mean to, not at first. At first he just plans on interacting just like normal, like nothing is wrong. But then, after a case one day, he goes to sling his arm over Wes’s shoulder and _repulsed_ choruses through his brain and he fumbles, brings his hand up and scratches the back of his neck like that was his plan all along. 

He’s always known Wes has a thing about touching people, always has his little bottles of hand sanitizer and keeps bodily contact with people to a minimum. Travis always thought that was just a _Wes_ thing, because Wes has OCD and is a neat-freak and doesn’t like germs or dirt. But Wes is asexual, too, and Travis…Travis isn’t. Travis doesn’t know what counts as a sexual touch or not in Wes’s world.

So he stops touching Wes altogether. Stops bumping their shoulders together or fist bumping Wes, keeps their fingers from brushing when he passes things over and forces himself not to let his fingers slide over Wes’s skin and linger when he walks by. It’s harder than keeping his flirty innuendos to himself, because Travis knows how to shut up when it’s required, but he’s always been a tactile person and this is painful.

But he’ll do it, for Wes. He’d do anything for Wes.

\---

Kate pulls him aside and murmurs, “Are you guys fighting again?” and she sounds worried in a way she never does when they’re usually fighting. Usually she and Amy are just amused, unless the fighting spills over and affects them.

Travis shrugs out of her grasp and tucks his hands into his pockets. He avoids looking over at Wes. “No. We’re not fighting.”

He almost wishes they were. Fighting would be easier to bear than this.

\---

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

This time it’s Wes at Travis’s doorstep, leaning on the doorframe like he’s about to burst inside and start throwing things. Travis steps aside quickly, making room for Wes to enter. “You always say there’re so many things, I’m not quite sure which one you’re talking about here.”

Wes takes the invitation, stomping inside. “You are acting weird. And I don’t mean your usual, stupid idiotic self. I mean you’re acting _strange_ , like something is wrong.” He whirls on Travis, hands on his hips. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Travis!” Wes takes a step toward him; Travis takes a step back. He doesn’t intend to, but it’s become almost a habit this past week, keeping his distance, and it just sort of…happens.

Wes notices. His eyes go bleak and his shoulders drop and all the fight drains out of him.

“Do you want to break up?” he asks, and his voice is small.

Travis jerks, a livewire of panic running through him. “What? No! Absolutely not!”

Wes crosses his arms, but it looks more like he’s hugging himself than getting defensive or angry. “You won’t touch me anymore, Travis.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “Not even… If you can’t even _touch_ me…”

He has, Travis realizes, made a grave miscalculation.

He crosses the distance in three steps, clutching Wes’s arms. “No! No, it’s not that. It’s _not_. I don’t want to break up with you, not at _all_.”

Wes stares at him, eyes big and wounded like an injured animal, and he’s tense under Travis’s hands. “Then tell me what’s going on with you.”

Travis spills it all. About the questions and the websites and how he was only trying to do the right thing by Wes, because Wes is one of the most important things in his life and Travis can’t bear the thought of losing Wes because he fucked something up.

Travis explains _everything_ , and by the end of it Wes has gone from injured to incredulous. He’s wearing his _Oh my god you’re the stupidest person in the world_ face, and he backs up a step, moving out of Travis’s grasp, just so he can gape at Travis.

“Are you _serious?_ ” he demands. “You put me through all that anxiety over _that?_ ”

“ _Repulsed_ , Wes! That’s a big deal! I didn’t know what was too much, so I just…didn’t do anything.”

“Oh my god.” Wes rubs his temples. “Dr. Ryan was right. You should have just asked me.”

“I did ask you!”

“You asked stupid insensitive questions that were none of your business. That’s not the same as asking me what I’m comfortable with, dumbass.” He turns on his heel, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I worried so much. No, you know what, I can’t believe I’m in love with your moronic ass. I mean, _seriously_.”

Travis isn’t that surprised that Wes says the words first. Wes has his issues, but he has so much less emotional baggage than Travis does. He is a bit surprised that _this_ is where Wes makes a declaration of love, but Travis has been a bit of an idiot, and Wes tends to be more emotionally honest when he’s upset, so there’s that.

Wes turns back to him, hands out in lecturing mode. “Okay, look, asexuality is a spectrum. Like a rainbow.”

Travis’s brow furrows a little. “I thought rainbows were for gay people.”

“It’s an imaginary asexual rainbow, okay? Shut up and go with it.”

Travis shuts up and goes with it.

Wes nods sharply and points to his left. “So, over here, we have the people who are sex-repulsed, like the stories you read online. Let’s say they’re red on this asexual rainbow, ‘kay?” He moves his hands, points to his right. “And over here, we have the purples, who are people who have sex, they just don’t feel sexual attraction. And in the middle—” He makes big waving motions in front of him. “—is everyone else. It’s a _spectrum_ , not a binary.”

“That’s…helpful, actually.” It’s a better metaphor than Travis thought it would be, and it does help. Because Travis has been thinking about this as more of a black-white sort of situation, when it’s clearly not. He takes a small step towards Wes. “Where are you on the spectrum?”

Wes’s hands hover in the air, like he’s not quite sure what to do with them now that the metaphor is over. “I don’t know. More of a…yellowy-orange, I guess.”

“Okay.” Travis shuffles forward another step. “And…what does that mean?”

Wes lowers his hands, laughing helplessly. “It means, Travis, that you can touch me. You can bump me when we walk and put your hand on my shoulder, and I’m not gonna flinch away. And anything else, just… If you’re not sure, then just _ask_ me.”

“Oh.” Travis crosses the last distance between them, hands coming up to hover above Wes’s. “Is this okay?”

Wes blinks fast, swallowing hard. “Yeah, Travis, this is okay.”

Gently, Travis laces his fingers with Wes’s, and oh, it’s _so good_ to touch Wes again. Travis drinks in the sensation, a man in the desert finding an oasis in the middle of nowhere. Wes was right. He was an idiot.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” he mumbles, leaning in, but he doesn’t cross that last inch. “Can I kiss you?”

In answer, Wes closes the distance between them, and Travis holds his partner close and indulges, fingers skimming over Wes’s arms and shoulders as though he can make up for a week of missing touches, if he just tries hard enough.

 

**Part Three**

In theory, now that they’ve sat down and figured some things out, they’re good to go. The whole misunderstanding about touching is behind them, and yeah, Travis is still working a little on the whole no-sex-at-all bit, but he’s getting there. It’s all good.

Except it’s really not.

“Okay, but you _can_ do it, right?”

“For the last time, Travis, _yes_ , I can have sex.” Wes waves his hands, exasperation written on every line of his face. “I just don’t _want_ to.”

“But it’s not _impossible_ , right?”

“Ugh!” Wes tosses his fork down, leans back in his chair. “You are the most stubborn, annoying man in the _world_. You can’t talk me into sex just because you’re feeling horny, Travis.”

“That’s not—” Travis wilts under Wes’s gaze. “Yeah, okay, but—”

“But _nothing_ , Travis. I’m not going to give in just because you wheedle and whine. I can be stubborn too.”

Sulking, Travis leans back. “Don’t I know it.”

Wes stares at him. Travis stares at his breakfast, poking glumly at his food. It’s not like he _needs_ sex or anything, he just _really really_ likes sex, and he thinks sex with Wes would be amazing, because he lo—he _really really_ likes Wes, and he’s never had sex with someone he’s felt like that before.

It’s not _just_ because he’s horny. It’s because…because Wes is special, and Travis thinks it would be different and special and _better_ with Wes, _because_ Wes is special, and Travis doesn’t think it’s fair he doesn’t get to experience it.

Okay, it’s not really fair to Wes to try and wheedle and whine his way into sex, either, but still. Dr. Ryan said _compromise_ is an important component to a relationship, and Wes isn’t budging even a _little_.

Suddenly, Wes sighs, dropping his hands. “Okay, we need another metaphor. Pick a chore.”

Travis looks up, blinks. “A chore?”

“Yes, a chore. Like washing dishes, or sweeping. Something you find dreadfully, fantastically _dull_.”

Travis blinks again. “Um, I dunno. Doing the laundry.” He sets his fork down and sits back to see where this is going to go.

Wes nods. “Laundry. Okay.” He steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. “Imagine you live in a world where doing laundry is the _height_ of excitement.”

Travis blinks again. “What?”

“No, no, hear me out. Doing laundry is the _best thing ever_. Everyone says so. It’s practically all they talk about. It’s everywhere in the media, you can’t walk past a billboard without seeing it implied in some manner. Doing the laundry is _amazing_. If people could do it all hours of the day, they would.”

“Okay, but—”

“Uh-uh, my metaphor.” Wes holds up a hand; Travis snaps his jaw shut. “So you grow up in this world, and you don’t get it. You don’t understand why everyone is so obsessed with doing laundry. You think it seems boring, tedious. You’re not even sure you want to do it. But it’s _everywhere_ , it’s all anyone talks about, so maybe there’s something wrong with you. Maybe you just haven’t done the right laundry. Surely if you try it, you’ll get what the hype is about.”

And just like that, it’s no longer a metaphor. Now it’s deeply, intimately _personal_ , and Travis can’t say a word to make it stop.

Wes’s face twists, and his voice is rising, but he doesn’t stop talking. “So you do the laundry, right, and it’s just as horribly tedious as you thought, and it’s uncomfortable and _messy_ and you think you’d rather not do it ever again. But it’s still there, still anything anyone talks about, they make jokes that go over your head and comments you don’t understand so maybe it’s you, maybe it’s just that you’re broken somehow, because _everyone_ loves doing the laundry and you don’t. It has to be you, right?”

“Wes—”

“So you do it again, and again, and again, and each time it’s the same. It’s just this _chore_ you have to do, something you have to get through when you’d rather be doing a hundred other things. But if you don’t, then the people you care about will walk away, so you get through it because what other option is there?”

Travis wishes he could go back in time and punch himself in the face. Wes looks like he’s about to cry, and it’s the worst thing Travis has ever seen.

And Wes doesn’t stop. “And then, years and _decades_ later, you learn about this word, a word for people like you, people who don’t want to do laundry so maybe you’re not broken after all. And you decide from that moment on that you’re not going to do it, you don’t _have_ to because you’re not broken, you’re just _different_ and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Wes is on his feet now, and he’s shaking, and Travis feels sick. Why couldn’t he have just kept his damn mouth shut?

And still Wes isn’t stopping, purging it all in a tormented rush. “But there’s this person, and you love this person but they _love_ doing laundry, and you want to give them what they want but you promised yourself, you said you wouldn’t force yourself to do a chore and you can’t give it up even for the person you love, so you say no, and you say no, and you say no, even if it means losing them, because this is about _you_ , for once in your life, and I’m _not_ going to do that, Travis. I can’t.” Wes slams his hands onto the table, his words coming out in a wail. “I _can’t_.”

The paralysis breaks. Travis leaps from his seat, races around the table and draws Wes close. “I’m sorry.” He tucks the blonde’s head into his shoulder, and Wes is trembling so hard Travis can feel it in his bones. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I didn’t know. Baby, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Wes makes a choked sound and clings to Travis’s shirt, and Travis closes his eyes and curses himself for a fool.

\---

“Better?” Travis asks, almost twenty minutes later. He presses a glass of water into Wes’s hands, hovering protectively.

Wes nods, staring at the glass in his hand like he’s never seen it before. “Sorry,” he mumbles, huddling in on himself. “I didn’t mean to go off on you like that.”

“It’s okay.” Wes’s eyes and nose are a little red, but Travis doesn’t think Wes cried at all. If he did, it was silently, which is almost worse than if he’d done it out loud. Silent tears means Wes doesn’t think he can cry in front of Travis. “You had every right. I shouldn’t have kept pushing.”

Wes raises the glass. His hands are still trembling a little, but not nearly as badly as before. “But you—”

“I’ll be fine!” The joviality is forced; the sentiment behind it isn’t. Travis _will_ be fine, if it means never seeing that look on Wes’s face again. “What’s a little abstinence between partners?”

Wes lowers the glass without every taking a sip. “Travis…”

“It’s _fine_. We’ve been not having sex for years. This is nothing.” Travis waves a dismissive hand. If he can convince himself that this isn’t a big deal, then it will _become_ something minor, easy to ignore. “We’re good.”

Wes eyes him dubiously. “Are you sure?”

Travis’s grin is tight on his face. “Sure I am. It’s all good.”

\---

Okay. So Travis is a bit of an ass.

Well, they both knew that. He just has to try harder.

He has to do better here.

\---

How hard can it be? Travis hasn’t been having sex with Wes for years, since the first time they met. This is the easiest thing in the world, nothing new to see here. 

So what if they’re dating now, and they cuddle on the couch and kiss during movies? So what if Travis sometimes wants nothing more than to run his hands over Wes’s body and watch Wes unravel like thread. That urge was there before they started dating, and Travis never had any trouble containing it then. This is just the same.

Really, it’s no big deal. Travis can totally handle this.

\---

Travis has never been this horny in his life.

Seriously, the last time he felt like this was probably when he was a teenager, when his hormones were out of control and a whiff of someone’s perfume could give him a boner and he had to sit through class before he could take care of the problem. 

Now it’s Wes that’s getting him excited. Just standing beside Wes is enough, feeling the warmth of his arm or smelling his shampoo. Just yesterday Wes was talking in therapy and Travis had to cross his legs and earnestly think about Captain Sutton’s latest oversharing before he could get up for their trust exersize.

Usually, if he starts feeling like this, he’ll just go out and find someone and scratch that itch. _Usually_. But Travis is not a cheater, he likes sex but he’s not the sort who would hurt his partner that way, and he definitely won’t do that to Wes.

But hot _damn_ , he really wants sex.

They’re sitting on Wes’s couch, watching some movie Travis barely notices, he’s so distracted. He’s tucked up against Wes’s side, hand pressed against the smooth planes of Wes’s stomach, and he’s nuzzling Wes’s neck, breathing in Wes’s scent. His partner hasn’t protested this much contact, so it’s all good, but it’s not _enough_ , Travis wants _more_. He wants to press up against Wes, every inch of their bodies connected, wants to create beautiful, magical friction until they both explode in ecstasy.

_Can’t do that_ , he reminds himself, nipping absently at the crook of Wes’s neck. _Can’t do that to Wes. It’s fine._

No, yeah, totally fine. Travis can handle this heat in his blood, this itch in his veins. He’s good at not having sex with Wes. It’s all good.

He scooches closer to Wes, shifts so one leg is draped over Wes’s lap and settles in. This is all good.

Wes sighs, pausing the movie. “You’re not paying any attention to the movie at all, are you?” Luckily, he doesn’t sound annoyed, just amused at Travis’s antics. Business as usual.

“Not even a little,” Travis mumbles, nibbling up Wes’s jawbone. Wes huffs in amusement, turning his head so their lips meet, and Travis eagerly dives in. He cups Wes’s jaw in one hand, the other crawling across Wes’s stomach as his tongue probes Wes’s mouth. He shifts, moves so he’s straddling Wes, and it’s almost good enough. _Almost_. Need more skin, more contact, more _friction_ —

“Travis?”

Travis hums, sucking at Wes’s lower lip. His hands drift, undoing Wes’s shirt buttons with a finesse that comes easy. He’s undone plenty of buttons without looking. This is second nature.

“Travis.”

Step one: Remove clothes. The last button opens, and Wes’s shirt gapes. Travis groans, hips twitching, and presses his hands over every inch of skin he can find. Step one complete. Step two, skin-to-skin contact, as much as possible, and nothing has ever sounded more delightful.

“Travis.” Firm hands push at his shoulders, pulling his mouth away from Wes’s. Travis blinks, dizzy and aching, and pushes back, trying to get at the warmth of Wes’s body, the connection of their kiss.

“ _Travis_.” Wes gives him a sharp nudge, cutting through some of the need. He shakes his head, coming out of the daze, and finds Wes staring at him, equal parts cautious and quizzical. “Travis, what are you doing?”

There’s just a hint of apprehension in Wes’s words, and it cuts through the lust like a bucket of cold water. He sits back, staring down at himself. At _them_ , at Wes with his shirt wide open, farther than they’ve gone yet because Travis pushed and pushed and didn’t even _ask_ —

Travis scrambles off Wes’s lap, heart in his throat. “Wes, I—”

Wes sits up, absently pulling his shirt closed. “Travis, it’s okay.”

Travis backs up another foot. He feels like he’s done something irredeemable. God, is he really the horny sex-crazy mandog Kate and Amy always accuse him of being?

“Travis.” Wes rises, one hand out, frowning. Maybe he’s concerned at Travis’s silence, or maybe he’s annoyed at Travis’s imposition on his boundaries. They _talked_ about this, dammit, Travis was supposed to _ask_ before he took.

Dammit, dammit, god fucking _dammit_.

“Travis?”

Travis feels sick.

Before Wes can take another step towards him, he turns and flees.

\---

By his fourth beer, he’s passed from sickened and angry at himself to morose self-recriminations. He turns his bottle in his hands, staring into the middle distance, going over tonight in his head. Over and over, and the inescapable conclusion is that’s he’s the one with the problem. How many times can he cross the line before Wes gets tired of his overactive libido and walks away? How long before Travis decides Wes’s boundaries are too stringent and does something he can’t take back?

How long before this falls apart, too, like everything else in his life?

“The only common denominator is me,” he mutters, bringing the bottle to his lips. But hasn’t that always been the case? _He’s_ the one with the problem, the commitmentphobe who can’t keep it in his pants. The only difference here is that the former character flaw isn’t the problem here—because he’s one hundred percent committed to Wes, couples’ therapy would show that if nothing else—but the latter.

The latter usually isn’t a problem.

He’s so caught up in his own head that he doesn’t notice the figure sliding into the seat next to him until she deliberately brushes his arm. He glances over, and her perfectly red lips curve up in a glaring invitation.

“Are you alone?” she purrs, resting her chin on her palm.

He curls one side of his mouth up, responding to the flirtation as easy as breathing. “Not anymore.”

“Well, then.” She flutters her eyelashes coquettishly, and her smile is like visual caress. “Buy a girl a drink?”

He returns the smile with one of his own and signals the bartender. Within moments, a martini is placed in front of her, and she picks up the olive, one eye on him as she wraps her lips around it.

Travis knows where this is going. She’s not even trying to be subtle. If he lets it, this will end with the two of them parting and never seeing each other again, satiated and happy. And he wants to. Oh, how he wants to. He’s got this itch he can’t scratch, rumbling through his veins, and she’s offering to take care of the problem. And what’s the issue, they’re both consenting adults and Wes wouldn’t even know—

It hits him like a punch in the face, and he’s suddenly a lot more sober than he was a minute ago. _Wes wouldn’t even know?_ Did he really just think that? Because Travis has admittedly sabotaged his relationships in the past, times when his partner was just getting too needy or too serious and he did something that pushed that person away, that made _them_ push _him_ away so far they never even thought about him again, he will admit he’s done that in his life, but he’s not a _cheater_. He has a lot of flaws and issues, but at least he’s never stooped _that_ low.

But he really just sat here and thought _Wes wouldn’t even know_ , like that would somehow make it _better_ if he’s sneaking around behind Wes’s back, getting some on the side just because Wes won’t put out. Wes wouldn’t know, but Travis would, and he’d have to carry that around with him every single day, have to lie his way through a relationship he actually cares about maintaining, because what’s more important, sex or his partner?

And of course the answer is Wes. Wes, who’s been with him through thick and thin, who he would take a bullet for and who would jump in front of a bullet for him which means they’ll probably die together trying to save each other’s lives. The one who bickers with him and cuddles with him, who snaps at Travis to stop eating in the car while simultaneously passing over napkins so he can wipe mustard off his cheek. Wes, who Travis would do anything for, who he went to couples’ counseling for even before they were a couple because Wes is _worth_ it, Wes is worth it in every single way and Travis feels lucky every moment because somehow they both made it to this point and after everything Wes is still his.

_Wes_ , and Travis sincerely thought _Wes wouldn’t even know_ and was ready to throw it all away.

“Sorry.” He pushes back from his seat, almost spilling the remains of his beer in the process. “I have to go.”

She startles back, blinking up at him. “Go? Why?”

But he doesn’t answer her, just tosses a few bills on the counter and bolts like his ass is on fire.

As soon as he’s out in the parking lot, he bends over and vomits against the fence. It doesn’t make him feel a whole lot better.

\---

He staggers into his apartment around dawn. All he really figured out, racing through the streets on his bike, is that he really doesn’t want to fuck this up, but he’s probably going to fuck this up. Which is really nothing he didn’t already know, so that’s no help.

Sighing, he chucks his keys on the counter and heads for the fridge. Okay, first he has to apologize to Wes. After that…Travis doesn’t even know anymore. He figures he can cross that bridge when he gets to it.

There’s a noise behind him, and he whirls, already reaching for the gun he’s not wearing before he registers the figure in the doorway. Wes blinks muzzily at him, dressed in his spare pajamas that somehow migrated to Travis’s closet before he knew it. That alone should have been making him freak out—previous relationship partners had done less and he’d run farther and faster. But seeing Wes just makes him feel sort of floaty and fuzzy inside his chest, and he doesn’t know if that’s the booze or just, like, _feelings_ and shit.

Probably the second. It would explain so much.

He swallows, leaning against the counter like maybe he’ll be able to regain his equilibrium if he clutches something steady. “You stayed.”

His partner yawns. “ ‘course I did. It was almost eleven when you drove out of here. I wasn’t driving across town at that time of night when there’s a perfectly good bed right here.” He rubs the back of his neck, dropping his gaze. “And I figured you had to come back _eventually_ , so…”

Wes shrugs a little, but Travis can finish the rest of the sentence. _So we could talk about what happened_ , and the fuzzy floaty feeling is gone, just like that.

He takes a breath and swallows again. “Wes, we need to talk.”

Wes’s shoulders hunch, and his face goes blank. “Yeah. I guess we do.”

Wes turns and heads into the living room, and all Travis can think as he follows is that the only common denominator in all his failed relationships is _him_.

\---

Travis doesn’t hide anything. Complete, open honesty about what happened last night, both here and at the bar. He doesn’t hold anything back, even if it means gouging his own heart open in the process. Dr. Ryan would be so proud.

Wes listens without saying a word, eyes hooded, hands clasped in front of him. His face might as well be stone, Wes is damned good at hiding his feelings like that, but the curve of his shoulder is screaming resignation and pain.

“I’m sorry,” Travis ends with, the words burning as they emerge. They aren’t enough, they can’t even begin to make up for the betrayal he was prepared to commit, even if only for a split second. He was prepared to throw _everything_ away, for a moment, and a mere apology will never forgive that.

Wes sighs, leaning back, and he doesn’t look at Travis when he says, “Maybe we should break up.”

Travis clenches his hands on his knees, biting back the anger those words provoke. “I didn’t do anything, Wes. I didn’t go with her. Why is that your go-to response?”

Wes scowls and his eye twitches and it’s beautiful, because Wes annoyed and frustrated is ten thousand times better than the sad defeat that creeps into his voice every time the subject comes up. “It’s not a _go-to_ response, Travis,” he says, just short of scathing, “it’s a reasonable solution to the problem, is all.”

“What _problem_ , Wes? There’s no problem!”

“There clearly is if you’re going out hitting on bimbos at the bar!”

Travis stiffens, the rage rising up, a red haze covering the room. “Okay, first off,” he says, voice deceptively calm—he can feel the storm raging inside of him, just waiting to be unleashed, waiting for one wrong word, “she hit on _me_ , not the other way around. Secondly, I went to the bar to clear my head, not run off with the first girl who batted her eyelashes at me. Thirdly, and I want you to listen real fucking close to this one, Wes, because I don’t think it’s going through your thick skull, _I don’t want to break up with you_.”

“You want sex!” Wes waves his hands, agitation making the movements resemble flailing more than his usual reserved posturing. “I can’t give it to you. It’s not fair!”

“Not fair to who?” Travis launches to his feet, pacing in front of the coffee table. “To _me?_ Who the hell cares? You’re part of this relationship, too, man, unless you say you want out.”

“Fine.” Snarling, Wes sits back, crosses his arms over his chest, and the combative fire in his eyes is something that’s been missing for a while. “I want out.”

“Oh, no, you don’t get to do that.” Travis points accusingly. “You want out for you, fine, but don’t you _dare_ break up with me and tell me it’s for _my_ benefit. Don’t you _dare!_ ”

Wes glowers, jaw thrust out mulishly. Travis reaches the end of the room and turns, pacing back the way he came. “So yeah, okay, I get that you can’t go there. That’s _fine_ , Wes, okay? I’m not complaining! Well, sometimes I’m complaining, but not like _seriously_ , like ‘I’ll leave you if you don’t give in’ complaining. I’m just giving you shit, but I’ll stop if it bugs you because really, I’m not _that_ much of an asshole.”

“Why are you so intent on this?” Wes demands, a challenge in his tone, and Travis is so upset he can’t help but respond to it.

With the truth.

“Because I love you, dammit!” Wes’s face blanks out, body going slack in surprise. Travis is too incensed to notice Wes’s reaction, or to even really pay attention to what he’s saying. He goes on. “Sometimes I get an itch, that’s what _happens_ , but I will fucking _manage_ it. I’m a big boy, I can take care of my own damn needs. It’s not like people actually die from blue balls.” He waves a hand. “Hell, me and my right hand have been best friends since I was a teen, it’ll be nice getting reacquainted.”

He stops, turning on Wes. His lips are turned down in a scowl, brows drawn in, but his hands are open wide, beseeching. “But Wes, I’m not gonna lose you over this.”

Wes stares at him, eyes wide, mouth gaping a little. He studies Travis like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing, can’t follow the evidence in front of his eyes.

Finally, in a small little voice, he says, “You love me?”

Travis reels back, blinking hard. “Um. What?” He quickly rewinds, scanning—there’s the part about jerking off, there’s the bit about getting an itch, there’s—oh. There it is.

Well.

It wasn’t something Travis had been meaning to say, not for a long time because of the knots that would grow in his belly when he thought about it, but now that it’s out there it doesn’t seem nearly as scary. Oh, there’s still some anxiety, but most of it is just gone. 

Some of the tension drains out of his body. “ ‘course I do, baby.” Then, seeing the sucker-punched look lingering on Wes’s face, he hesitantly adds, “Didn’t you know that?”

“I—” The sudden vulnerability makes Travis want to go over and scoop Wes up tight. The blonde shifts, runs his hand over the back of his neck. “I mean, I guess I…but I wasn’t really sure, so I just…”

“I want to hug you right now.” Travis takes three steps forward, holds out his arms. “Can I hug you right now?”

In reply, Wes stands and takes the one step that closes the distance between them, falling into Travis’s embrace. Travis wraps his arms around his partner, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Wes’s neck.

“I do, you know,” he murmurs. “I really, really do.” He pauses a beat. “I mean, let’s be real, if I didn’t, this whole no-sex thing just wouldn’t fly.” He gives Wes a little squeeze, just to show he’s joking, even though he’s kind of not.

Wes chuckles, shifting so his forehead is pressed against Travis’s shoulder. “True, true.” He sighs, hands coming up, clutching at Travis’s back. It’s a little desperate. Travis doesn’t mention it. “And I get it, Travis, I do, but…sometimes I need words. Sometimes I just need you to say the words, too.”

“Okay.” If they stayed like this forever, Travis thought, he wouldn’t complain too much. “I’ll work on that. And _you_ need to work on not running when things get too scary. That’s my shtick, you can’t just go stealing it.”

Wes huffs lightly, pulling back so he can tip his head and press a light kiss to Travis’s mouth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.” He snuggles back against Wes’s neck, feeling content. Who needs sex when he has this? “It’s all good. You and me against the world, just like always. For, like, ever.” And when did forever stop being the scariest thing in the world? Travis can’t even remember. “You don’t get to just walk away.”

“Unless I want to back out, right?” Wes questions, a smirk in his voice.

Travis snorts, tightening his grip. “Absolutely not.”

“You said if I wanted out, I could be out.”

“Nope. I changed my mind. You don’t get to leave.”

“Are you sure?” Wes’s hands fist in Travis’s shirt, breath shivering over the back of his neck. “I’m not really known for letting things go.”

Travis knew that going in, and it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing after all. It should freak him out, and maybe it does in the end, but over the fear is this indescribable feeling, floaty and fuzzy and warm, and it feels safe and perfect. It feels like _home_ , and there’s nothing in the world Travis wants more than a home.

“I love you,” he says, just to hear it aloud one more time. He’s never been able to say the words, not to someone he actually cares about, but they flow so easily with Wes. Who needs sex when they have this? They’ll make this work. Travis isn’t ready to give this up, not for the foreseeable future.

_Love you_ , his heart whispers again, and he hugs Wes a little closer and can’t help but smile.

**Author's Note:**

> So just like anything else asexuality is a complicated thing, and it’s different for every person. This is just one version of it I came up with and is certainly not meant to encompass everyone on the ace spectrum.


End file.
